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SELECTED POEMS 

V 



Tam O'Shanter. 



-Robert Bums. 



K. I'OMPKINS. 

1 6 C'kdar Strket, Nkw York 

1874. 



Kntered acc.mling to Act <.t" Congress in the year 1S74, by K. Tompkins, in the Otfice o{ 
the Librarian of Congress at Washinqton. 




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TAM O'SHANTER 



'Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full in tins Buke.'-GAAViN Douglass. 



When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late. 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy. 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Wliare sits our sulky, sullen dame. 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter, 
As he, frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou been but sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken blellum 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 



Tarn CV Shanter . 

That ilka melcler, \\\ the miller, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 

That every naig was ca'cl a shoe on, 

The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 

That at the L — d's house, ev"n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirten Jean till Monday. 

She prophesied that, late or soon. 

Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon 

Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
How monie lengthened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night 
Tarn had got planted unco right, 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony, — 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither, — 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, 
And ay the ale was growing better ; 
'I'he landlady and 1 am grew gracious, 
Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
'J'he landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 



Tain O'S banter. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ; 
As bees flee hame wi' hides o' treasure, 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
A moment white, — then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride, — 
That hour o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he takes the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed ; 
That night a child might understand 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg), 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind and rain and fire, — 



Tarn O'Shanfer. 

Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glo>vering round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars through the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering through the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ! 
Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae we '11 face the Devil ! — 
I'he swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he cared na Deils a bodle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonished, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 



Tarn O'Shanter. 

He screwed be M ^^.^^^ 

■nu voof an vafte. a a _ 

Coffins stood round '^^f°l Xsi dresses ; 

^■^-^-^^?revS a>*>P^^-^^^'• 
■^"?.^'rc.u handheldaUght,-- 
To note, upon the ha >.^^^^ 

A "-"-^^^'^r "^ |!ee unchristened barrns ; 
Twaspan-langwe.'^ 
Atbief,newctUtedfrae. P , 

l.-ivetonraha^vks,^vr ^^^^^^^. 

Bve scvrnitars w. »u. e . 

'^n^';t;h:;s£:a:hadnrangud. 

A knife a father s ^^reft,- 

Whomhrsamsor^oJ^ ^^^j^^ft. 

T^^^T'Ston^- turned U.s.de out. 

Three lawyers ton ^^^^^ . 

Wi' lies seamed Uke a be„. 



Jam 0' Shanter. 

And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neiik: 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfii' 
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; ^ 

The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her. duddies to the wark. 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had they been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens : 
Their sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen; 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them afif my hurdies 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock, — 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie. 
There was ae winsome wench and walie. 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore I 
For monie a beast to dead she shot. 
And perished monie a bonnie boat, 



Tarn 0'' Shanter. 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Her cutty-sark o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn — 
In longitude though sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vaunty. 
Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie 
I'hat sark she coft for her wee Nannie 
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches) — 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cower, 
Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang 
(A souple jad she was and Strang), 
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched, 
And thought his very een enriched. 
Ev'n Satan glowered, and fidged fu' fain. 
And botched and blew wi' might and main ; 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, — 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, ' ' Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 
And in an instant a' was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi" angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's m(irtal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When Catch the thief ! resounds aloud ; 



Tarn C Shanter. 

So Maggie runs, — the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah. Tarn ! thoul '11 get thy fairin' ! 
In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' — 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, INIeg, 
And wdn the key-stane of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, — 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ; 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle : 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle, — 
Ae spring brought afl" her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remeinber Tam O'Shanter's mare. 

— Robert Burns. 



TO THE UNCO GUID. 



" My son, these maxims make a rule 
And lump them aye thegither: 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool. 

The Rigid Wise anither; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' caff in; 
Sae ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
For random fits o' daffin." 

— Solomon. - 



•Eccls. vii: i6. 



O YE wha are sae guid yourser 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye 've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebor's fauts and folly : — 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supplied \vi' store o' water, 
The heaped happer 's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 



Hear me, ye venerable core. 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ! 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 

Would here propone defences. 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 



To the Unco Guid. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer ; 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what 's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin'. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What ragings must "his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
W\ wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail. 

It makes an unco leeway. 



Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames. 

Tied up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination, — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug. 

Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. 



To the Unco Gidd. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, 

To step aside is human. 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

llie moving why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 't is He alone 

Decidedly can try us ; 
He knows each chord,— its various tone, 

Each spring, — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let 's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What 's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what 's resisted. 



— Robert Burns. 



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